


Wedding Attire

by OwlQuill



Series: [Strange Magic Canon Expansion] [5]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Cultural Differences, F/M, Gen, Makeup, Threats of Etiquette, Threats of Violence, Wedding Attire, Wedding Preparations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlQuill/pseuds/OwlQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog and Marianne will have to have a formal wedding. At a formal wedding, Bog should wear clothes. This job might just be too much for the fairies' court tailor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Attire

**Author's Note:**

> I'd started this earlier, but finished it for day 2 of [Strange Magic Week](http://owl-quill.tumblr.com/post/148751594857/strange-magic-week-themes) 2016

The silk ripped when the Bog King lifted his arm, and the fabric scraped over the edge of one of his scales. Selyem, the Fairy King’s court tailor, had hoped this would fare better than petals, but no such luck.

His client scowled like a thundercloud. He scowled like he was considering if he should crush Selyem on the spot, or if he were not worth the attention. 

He scowled exactly like any other bad-tempered noble unhappy with proceedings, in priciple, only with slightly different trimmings. It was an odd thought, but a relief to Selyem. He did have experience with that kind of client. Unfortunately he had as little experience clothing goblins as the king of goblins had wearing clothes.

With a quiet sigh he got the ripped cloth out of the way. He knew the problem was that blame was like water: It flowed downhill. So it was a surprise when the Bog King did not address him.

“Were that enough attempts to satisfy our agreement, Princess?”

“Oh Boggy, don’t be like that.” It was really amazing Princess Dawn dared to call him nicknames, but that was the princesses for you.

“All I’m saying is, this does not seem to be working very well. We are all wasting time.” He gestured with his armoured, spindly arms, making Selyem worry about being accidentally swept off his stepladder.

“Aw, come on. There must be something. You can’t go to your own wedding looking like any other day.”

“But it would be different,” Princess Marianne said. She leaned on the wall, arms and legs crossed, radiating a faint air of amusement. “I’d like it.” 

The Bog King’s lips twitched - was he really tamping down a smile?

“No!” Princess Dawn took to the air, pointing a finger in her sister’s face. “Absolutely not! You _will_ be wearing a dress.”

Selyem sighed quietly and gingerly touched one of the scales on the Bog King’s shoulders. He had avoided personal questions so far, but but between it being impossible to fit anything over those pauldrons, and bare shoulders being out of the question for a man, he was short on options. “Those really don’t come off?”

Voice higher than before and taking on a sing-song tone, the Bog King said, “Oh, they could come off, just like your ears.”

Selyem let go and almost took a step back. He had to snap his wings open to keep his balance. His usual step stool was bigger, but the Bog King was so tall he had needed to borrow a ladder.

When Selyem raised a hand to wipe his brow, he noticed something dark and greenish on his fingertips. His eyes widened and he completely forgot his manners. “Are those algae?!”

“It is a patina,” the Bog King answered, “you idiot” being clear in his cold voice. “It helps with blending in.”

Bobbing his head in a bow, Selyem tried to make up for his outburst. “Pardon my ignorance, sire, but I don’t understand… why would a king want to blend in?”

“Oh, for ambushing trespassers in his realm, for example,” Princess Marianne threw in.

“For example,” the Bog King repeated with a slow nod in her direction. The lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth grew less deep, but Selyem could see no sign of amusement. That was a serious answer?

The tailor’s befuddlement must have been plain on his face, for the Princess added, “Kingship is a bit more hands-on in the Dark Forest than here, Selyem.”

Princess Dawn flitted around the room with nervous energy. “Ohh, but there must be occasions for which you go fancy. Festivals? What about your coronation?”

“The Amber has always been enough for me.” He nodded at his mark of office, leaning to the wall next to Marianne.

Selyem shot the metal staff a glance. How very goblin for one thing to serve as weapon and badge of office. “That’s all?”

The Bog King answered with a flourish and malicious glee, “Well, one traditional option for the occasion of taking the throne is being covered in the blood of your predecessor.”

“Oh, Boggy!” Princess Dawn swatted his arm with the back of her hand. He rolled his eyes, but his feral grin smoothed out to a crooked smile, and he made a slow, defensive shrug.

“Merely answering questions.”

“Then answer me this: Is there really nothing special for a wedding?”

Partly to distract himself from worrying the Bog King might react badly if Princess Dawn got into his face too much, Selyem concentrated on the problem he was here to solve, and sent one of the assisting pixies to get a brush.

“A lot of food, a lot of drink, loud music, and the principals trying to get not too drunk.”

“No decoration? No jewellery? No fancy clothes, ever?”

“I… really rather wouldn’t, but I do remember Stuff and Thang wearing bow ties on one occasion,” Princess Marianne pointed out.

“Don’t remind me,” the Bog King muttered, raising a hand to what had to be called, for lack of a better word, his brow.

“A-HAH!” Princess Dawn raised an accusing finger at the Bog King. “So you do have the concept of fancy clothes for special occasions!”

“If you can call that clothes.”

“I will _not_ glue a bow tie to my neck.”

Before things could devolve into a real argument, Selyem said, “Of course not, that would be completely below your station.”

Both Dawn and the Bog King relaxed, leaving an opening for the tailor. “Sire, would you allow me to remove the patina from a spot of your carapace? I would very much like to see the colour without it.”

The Bog King made a throaty sound of disgust, almost a growl. “If this does not lead to an acceptable, workable idea, this is it. I’ve had enough. But fine, go ahead, one last idea.”

Selyem scrubbed with a damp brush at the top scale of the pauldron, and wiped the loosened algae off with a soft cloth. Cleaned, the chitin was a pale, desaturated green.

“I think we could work with that. Aranea?”

The court seamstress, who had been sitting off to the side with her sketchbook, approached for a look.

“Hm, yes. That colour would go nice with gold edging. And I could find matching green hellebore petals for Princess Marianne’s dress.” She would have an easier time with wedding attire for the princess than Selyem would have for a groom, and wasn’t that a strange turn of events, considering how different the Princess’s taste had grown. “Maybe we should bring in Firn.”

A very un-ladylike snort and laughter came from Princess Marianne.

While Selyem instructed one of the pixies to fetch Firn, the Bog King looked from his betrothed to princess Dawn. “What’s so funny? I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I’m not sure.” Dawn looked at her sister with a slight frown, who was still gasping and chuckled and waved off. “But Firn is our best makeup artist. He’s great at nail polish and wing edging.”

After a few beats, he had worked through the implications. “So. The new idea is to paint me.”

“Relax, big guy. I paint my face every morning, you can get your shoulders painted one day in your life.”

“But you think it’s ridiculous.”

“No, no, it’s just… You know how our looks should match up? So I had that mental image… am I supposed to wear nothing but makeup, then?”

“You. Wear. A. Dress.” Dawn hissed with amazing vehemence.

“As lovely as that image is, you two talked me into this formal wedding affair with arguments about how it was politically important, that the King of the Dark Forest and the Heir of the Fair Fields Crown could not just have a rousing banquet and call it good-”

“You know I’d prefer the party with brawling potential, but-” Princess Marianne made a face and raised her shoulders - “diplomacy. You know.”

“Your neighbouring kingdoms will take us more seriously if we ponce it up.”

“Something like that.”

Another fairy, brown-skinned and white-haired, his age hard to guess due to smooth skin, approached, prompting the Bog King to ask, “So, what now?”

Selyem made very brief introductions, with Firn bowing deeply. His voice was deep and gentle. “You need me for…?”

“Well, clothes are not working for his majesty, and we wondered if, er, painting his carapace would be an alternative. Have a look at his natural colour.”

While Selyem, Firn and Aranea examined his back, the Bog King talked to Princess Marianne. At least he was mostly holding still. The experts thought it best to ignore them.

“Maybe you should exhibit me at the next fair, Tough Girl. Sell tickets. ‘Have a close-up look at the Bog King.’”

“Nah. We could earn more selling tickets for people to watch us fight. If you are having money troubles, oh mighty Bog King.”

The experts exchanged comments in an undertone. “The shapes are very elegant, and the natural colour indeed would go well with gold, yes. Or maybe…” Firn raised his voice to a normal volume. “Excuse me, your majesty?”

“What?”

“Would you prefer simple or extravagant designs?”

“Simple.”

“As you wish. We will come up with a few suggestions and show you ideas… would it suit you in the early evening?”

“As long as we can finish here now.”

“I have sketched his scales you can use as basis,” Iris offered.

“Then we have everything we need. Thank you for your patience, Sire.”

The Bog King answered the deep bow with a nod and left, taking up bantering with his fiancee again.

“She really found someone who cares less about fashion than she does,” Selyem said in wonder. “Who would have thought.”


End file.
